


Too drunk to think

by breadvolution



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Military Police AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:23:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1245793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breadvolution/pseuds/breadvolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Military Police AU: Marco and Jean have been part of the military police for years now, and have been drinking buddies on their off time every weekend since day one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too drunk to think

Jean sucked in a heavy breath of his cigarette, blowing the smoke swiftly out into the still air. Snow drifted down on him, and after idling so long outside of the pub, it had started to gather at his shoulders. He listened softly to single voice that accompanied an orchestra of silence, admiring the inner city's beauty like a neighbourhood tourist attraction. While silence was a welcome beauty, he was glad to have the single clamouring voice at his side. He wanted to hear that voice forever; he thought it just the same as a calming silence. "I had to ask him to kindly leave," Marco continued beside him, the small of his back pressed against the rail Jean leaned forward on. "You should have seen how surprised he was that I'd stepped in at all." 

"Must have been a hell of a face," Jean chuckled when Marco reached the end of his story. He took another heavy drag on his smoke and offered it to his friend. They often shared cigarettes on the nights that they would go to the pub to drink. It had become ritual for them, for every Friday they would gather here to talk and laugh, tasting the bitter of the beer and relishing in the sweet lull that company offered. Bittersweet; that was their Friday evenings. Marco stared up at the sky, watching the snowflakes drift around him and smiling. He formed his lips into a circle and huffed out smoke rings. He was much better at it than Jean was. "I think I drank too much," Jean declared.

"I told you to stop three beers ago," he muttered. Though it was chiding, his voice always sounded so sweet. Jean wished Marco was the only one who ever scolded him, because Marco was just about the only man he would listen to willingly these days. He possessed reason and logic unknown to any man Jean had ever met. If someone had to lecture him for the rest of his life, Jean was sure he would never get fed up with his friend. Everyone else sounded like bumbling idiots. Why did Jean wish this military life for himself? 

"Shoulda' tackled me, then." He turned his head, watching Marco blow his rings and shoot smoke through the center like an arrow. Goddamn, was he good. "I'm too drunk to think straight." He stared vacantly at the space behind Marco, then chuckled ruefully: "If I can't think straight, I guess that makes me gay. Eh? Eh??" He straightened up enough to elbow Marco, jousting.

Marco had to glance at him, giving him a funny look. "Jean, that was a terrible joke, and you know it." 

"But you're laughing," Jean smirked. 

"Okay, it was funny, but that doesn't mean it's a good joke." Jean stood up completely as Marco threw down the last of their cigarette. Jean remembered back when he started smoking. Marco told him time and time again it would be the death of him, but Jean didn't listen. He told Marco that if anything would kill him, it wouldn't be his own health. He remembered Marco frowning every time he said it, a look of concern and worry in his eyes. Once, while they were three times drunker than they were now, Marco confessed he hoped Jean lived to an old age, and that he would be there to see it. Marco didn't remember saying it, but Jean did. It never left his mind. He wanted to live to an old age with Marco, but by the time Marco had said that, Jean was hooked on nicotine. Marco started smoking a year after him. "It's getting kind of cold. Why don't we head back?" Jean grunted his approval, and started off ahead of Marco.

"Y'know, Jean," he muttered a minute into their trek, "you say you're drunk, but you're not usually this quiet. Is everything alright?"

"…Yeah, mostly. I just had a shitty dream last night. You ever have a dream that feels so real you kind of aren't sure if you were dreaming or not? I had one of those last night; about Trost." He scratched his scalp and sighed. "You died or something like that, but I didn't really know how, but you were like my guardian angel or something and said I had to find whoever'd done it. So I ended up spending the whole damn rest of the dream trying to figure out who the fuck killed you. Like it was all detective-y and I was wearing a really dumb hat and you thought it was great. And so I was sitting down in this huge room in this huge chair trying to figure out who killed you when you whispered in my ear that it was Annie or… some weird shit like that, and then you just started bleeding everywhere and almost ate me. I woke up in a cold sweat. The whole thing was ridiculous; felt real though."

"…Sounds pretty intense. I guess it's just a dream though, right? I'm here and I'm okay, so you just have to remember it's just a dream."

"Yeah, I know. I'm sure I'll have forgotten it in a few days." He sighs. The snow crushed under their feet was the only sound that followed for a minute. 

"Marco?"

"Yeah, Jean?"

"I wasn't joking."

"Huh?" Marco stopped, half turned toward his friend. "What, about the dream? I didn't think you were joking!"

"No, not that. About not thinking straight." Marco's vacant stare didn't appear to understand what Jean was getting at. Jean sighed, large and exasperated. "I didn't think I was going to puke but now I might; Marco you're fucking killing me."

"I.." Marco hesitated, "I really don’t know what you mean. You're drunk, most people don't think straight. I'm sure if we just get you some water at your place and into a bed you'll be fine."

Jean stared, his eyes glazing over from sheer effort. He sure as hell wasn't thinking straight, and it wasn't just Jean making a joke. "Walk with me, then. Humour me.

"You've been drunk before, right?" Jean continued as he stumbled through the snow, Marco tight at his side. "And you've been around a lot of the other officers while they were drunk, too. And yeah, you've told me my escapades away from sobriety, so I get you. But did you ever really consider that maybe getting drunk isn't changing the way you think. It's just. It makes you more honest about who you really are. Sort of like when you get drunk you're always glowing. Like you smile non-stop and you're practically singing when you talk, and you get these eyes. They're all droopy and sappy, like you're falling in love. You only got really drunk that one time though. Like a year ago. You remember that? So you stopped drinking as much, mostly because you don't remember a thing that happened, right?

"Yeah well, while you were pissed, I had to sober up to help you move around. And the whole time damn time you were making those sappy eyes at me. You hung onto me and clung to me, and I hope you know it blows to have to drag around a guy bigger than you. But when I finally got you to your place, and threw you down on the bed, and that’s when you said something like, I dunno', 'Jean, hold up' and asked me to stick around for a while, so I popped a squat and we talked, and the whole time you kept your hand on my arm. And your eyes were all googly still. Then you said something really weird, and I thought I misheard you, but it's been nagging me since. Like 'stay the night' or something, but you weren't even awake at that point. 

"I don't really know if I believe in that bullshit that when you're drunk you just do things you wouldn't normally; kinda' like how assholes try to say hey sorry babe I cheated on you but I was drunk. You don't do that shit because it was an accident; you do that shit because you fucking wanted to and failed to give a shit."

Marco stared as Jean spoke, not completely sure if he comprehended what Jean was saying. Maybe Marco was drunker than he thought he was, and what Jean was saying was completely normal and he just had troubles understanding. Maybe Jean was drunk enough not to make complete sense. Maybe their faculties were in complete order, and Marco just refused to understand properly what Jean was getting at. Either way, Jean stumbled forward a little longer, silent. They were already at his house, and Jean pressed his back against the door, his shoulder pressing in to the frame and let his head hit the hard wood with a knock. His fingers drifted into his pockets for his keys as he continued.

"Stay the night," he muttered, eyes drooping.

"…Jean, you're drunk."

"Didn't you hear anything I said?" His keys jingled in his hands. "I'm drunk, and I'm feeling honest. Marco: stay the night. Like I should have stayed a year ago." Jean tried to look cool, but dropped his keys and swore. A moment away from bending over to pick them up, Marco beat him to it. As he stood up again, Marco found himself a little closer to Jean that he had a moment ago. No, more than a little close; they were practically pressed up against each other now. He felt a hand on his arm, clutching his bicep, but Marco didn't dare to look Jean in the eye, instead watching the groove between Jean's arm and side. His hand slid the key into the lock, and turned the knob. It was as the door opened that he found the courage to kiss Jean, and they disappeared into the quiet darkness of his home.

Jean clutched onto Marco's jacket and pulled him in tight as he stumbled into the wall, sloppily kissing Marco. He stank of booze and tasted like smoke, but Marco was no different. The bitter hops coated his lips until Marco kissed away every unnatural flavour on his mouth, and longer still. He drew away, blushing fiercely as he looked at Jean.

"Let's do it," Jean breathed, the air from his mouth rushed past Marco's face. Marco curled his nose at that. He stank. 

"We're not 'doing it' while you're that drunk," Marco insisted, and Jean fell into his arms. For a moment he thought Jean had lost his balance, but Jean's arms around his neck tightened. It was a hug, something he nearly never got from Jean. Marco wrapped his arms around Jean in turn, cuddling his nose into the side of his head and smiling. "You're way too drunk for this."

"You kissed me first," Jean chuckled. "Just stay the night. You can wear my PJs."

"…That's fine," he whispered.


End file.
